


there will be after effects

by thetaserpentis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jemma Simmons Has PTSD, Jemma Simmons Needs a Hug, Jemma Simmons-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetaserpentis/pseuds/thetaserpentis
Summary: “There will be after effects, and that’s okay.”Jemma reads a lot of books. She reads about how comas affect the victims even after they wake up. The books and the doctors and the nurses all say Fitz will never be the same. If- when he wakes up, he’ll change.Jemma can’t help but feel like she’s changed too.ORJemma’s had PTSD since Season 2 at least; let’s talk about that.
Relationships: Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Melinda May & Jemma Simmons
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	there will be after effects

Everything feels different after. Even she feels different after.

It’s always difficult to explain. She recognizes her face in the mirror. She can list all her PhDs, can name her mother and father, can remember all the books she’s read in the past month. She knows her name, and she knows her body. She knows where there are freckles and where there are moles, which places grow hair faster than others, knows the awkward curve in her lower stomach. But somehow, she cannot associate these traits- facts- with who she is now. 

(Jemma repeats her name to herself sometimes to see how it feels coming out of her mouth. 

Her voice hasn’t changed, but it sounds inexplicably different.)

What she feels can be attributed to trauma, but knowing the source doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to deal with the pain. 

(What right did she have to feel any pain, when Fitz was lying on a sterile, white, hospital bed? What right did she have to complain, when Fitz had given up his life for hers? The much less worthy of the two.)

It was only a week ago when Jemma still felt like Jemma Simmons. She had strong likes and dislikes. She had goals and a structured plan for the future. But those had always included Fitz and science and SHIELD- things that all slipped away so quickly. Everything that once made Jemma Jemma seemed so inconsequential under Hydra’s shadow- inconsequential when death seemed to hang heavy in the air of the medbay. Jemma doesn’t really know who she is or what she wants anymore. 

(What she wants is for Fitz to wake up.

Want is not enough. 

So Jemma sits by him all hours of every day.)

The first two days, all Jemma hears is the beeping of a monitor and her own dull heavy heartbeat. She’s read plenty in the past about comas. It was always so detached, apathetic, and Jemma thinks now how naive she had been. She entered the field with the dauntlessness of a child who had yet to learn how bad things happen. 

When she reads now, she wonders about the possibility of Fitz hearing her. The first two days she holds his hand and begs him to wake up. Then she reads him books and plays his music and hopes it is enough.

(Parts of her hope Fitz cannot hear after all. She does not want him to hear her desperation.)

The team tries to help as much as they can. The medical team helping Fitz had given up on pushing Jemma away. Coulson allows her as much time off as she could possibly want. He visits sometimes, and they both sit in silence. Skye brings food. Jemma barely eats it. The smell and taste are too strong for her, but Jemma appreciates the gesture. 

(Jemma can’t help but feel useless. She could not help her best friend, and now she cannot help her team. They tell her it’s fine- that they can handle the job, but Jemma knows better. They’re rebuilding SHIELD from the ashes, and Jemma has played no part in it.)

In her time waiting for Fitz, Jemma studies medicine. She studies anatomy and basic medical procedures. She studies pharmaceutical drugs and how to reset a dislocated shoulder. She learns about treatment for gunshot wounds and stab wounds and every other type of wound in between. She learns about recovery from dehydration and starvation. The silence became uncomfortably familiar, and Jemma was never the type to sit idle. She knows Coulson’s new SHIELD would need a medical team. Jemma works to become what is needed. She works- just in case anyone were to get hurt again. 

The days drag on. They feel longer and longer, and Jemma waits and waits for Fitz to wake up. When he doesn’t Jemma has to stave off the doubt, chase away the nagging in her mind that wonders- wonders if Fitz will ever wake up. 

Skye visits on the fifth day. It’s a battle. Her incessant nagging has Jemma forcing down a loaf of bread, only to vomit it back up nearly an hour later. Skye feels guilty about it after that. The young girl- woman, really- wouldn’t admit it, but Jemma could see the press of her lips and the tightness in her forehead. She notices when Skye ducks her head and looks away and twiddles her thumbs. Jemma doesn’t blame Skye for making her eat. In fact, she’s grateful. The dull ache in her stomach was beginning to worsen, only topped by the steadily growing thrumming in her head and the weight in her chest. 

(The burn in her chest and her throat and the sour acidic taste takes everything else off her mind for a few seconds. It’s a relief- a minute of solace.)

By the sixth day, Jemma’s smell permeates, but she cannot bring herself to leave. She wants to be there the moment something changes- for better or for worse. Skye doesn’t ask twice, still afraid of any unintentional consequences after the last time. Jemma doesn’t tell her that it felt good to finally feel something, even if it was vomit. May doesn’t have the same reservations. On day seven, she enters the medbay with indisputable demands. She wants Jemma to take care of herself. That’s all. But Jemma doesn’t know how to explain her reluctance. 

(Jemma thinks she doesn’t really deserve to take care of herself. 

At least, not until Fitz wakes up.)

Jemma and May fight that day. May, an unmovable object, and Jemma, an unstoppable force. Eventually they have to compromise. Jemma refuses to shower, refuses to leave the room, but May brings in a can of dry shampoo and a bowl of bland rice soup, and Jemma finds that she is so tired of fighting.

(She’s selfish like that.)

Jemma forces down a few spoonfuls of the soup, as May combs dry shampoo through her hair. 

(It feels easy and warm. It breaks down her resolve so softly and so gently, Jemma doesn’t even notice.)

It’s this ease and comfort, the resilience and certainty, the understanding in May that has Jemma agreeing on the eighth day. May takes an unused com into the bathroom, so Jemma could know as soon as possible if anything changed. She sets the channel up and sits resolutely in Jemma’s chair, as Jemma stumbles into the nearest bathroom. 

It’s not really the pounding of water against the shower stall’s floor or the unbearably cold tile under Jemma’s bare feet. It’s not the noise of spraying water, of the pipes creaking and groaning. It’s not the lights, dimmer than the medbay but painfully different. It’s not the feeling of her skin, bare and cold for the first time in over a week, or the wet dewy smell, unlike the familiar sterilized scent of Fitz’s room. 

It’s when she gets under the spray, that Jemma realizes how stupid she is. Jemma Simmons has two PhDs, but she is unbearably stupid. The water is cold and harsh. It beats her down until she’s on the floor, and her lungs burn, and Jemma doesn’t know which way to go for air. She isn’t wearing any clothes, but somehow she can feel the fabric weighed down with water. It scratches at her skin and anchors her underneath the spray.

May is the one to pull her out, and throw a towel around her. Jemma doesn’t think she’s ever heard May apologize… She’s never had to. But through her gasping breaths, her mind reeling- racing a mile a minute just to count the seconds, Jemma hears May say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then the apologies stop. 

(Jemma isn’t an expert on Agent May. The past few weeks have only been a precursor. No, Jemma doesn’t know Agent May very well, but she’s a scientist. She can hypothesize that perhaps, Agent May is someone who moves- who does not dwell.)

May has a self-assurance to her that draws Jemma in. She leads Jemma with calloused hands- gentle hands. May puts her in a chair and pushes her head back into the sink, and once Jemma’s breathing has slowed, May reaches for the knob. “I’m going to turn on the water,” May warns, and Jemma just nods her head, though it wasn’t a question. 

When the water hits her forehead, it’s warmer. Jemma flinches, grabs the white towel around her body, nails scratching the fabric. Her heart feels like it’s pounding loud enough for the whole base to hear, and her stomach feels like it wants to invert itself and climb out her throat, but her breath is steady and constant. It’s slower and heavier, and Jemma feels her lungs expand and contract. Jemma realizes; she is so tired. Jemma is so tired. 

She knows there is so much to do. There is so much May should be doing- so much Jemma should be doing, but instead May runs cheap shampoo through Jemma’s hair, and Jemma stays there without fighting. 

(Jemma has always tried to pretend she was older than she was. By age fifteen, Jemma was wearing blazers and cardigans, attempting to seem just as old and mature as the others in her college classes, and she moved to America by herself before she was even a legal adult. Jemma always thought she had missed out on her childhood to some extent, but the truth was that she never grew up. She is still the scared little girl hiding under the covers of her bed.)

On the morning of the ninth day, Jemma feels regret. It all comes crashing down on her. She feels guilt and pain and embarrassment, and most of all she feels anger. She feels anger, because she had liked having her hair washed. Her head feels lighter than it had for days, and her hair feels clean. The grease and oil and the smell of salt water is all gone, but Fitz- Fitz is still asleep. 

(The emotions hit her fast. It hits her a minute after she wakes up- when she lifts her head groggily and she realizes she is still in the medbay. She is still in the medbay, and she still cannot wake Fitz up.)

(It feels sort of like waking up from her scoliosis surgery. She still remembers the moment she woke up and the opiate had worn off. The pain hit her hard and fast and ruthlessly until she was sure she would die from the pain alone. But now it’s worse, because there is no morphine button, and Jemma isn’t sure she wants one either.)

She goes to take a shower. Maybe it’s her poor attempt at retribution, or maybe she just couldn’t think straight, but Jemma stumbles haphazardly into the same communal shower. Right before she leaves Jemma holds Fitz’s hand, and she makes promises she hopes she can keep.

(“I’ll do anything- everything for you, Fitz. I promise. All you have to do is wake up. I’ll do anything you ask or need. I’ll never say your name in the way that annoys you, and I’ll never complain about how much sugar you put in your tea, and I’ll make you pancakes every morning, and I’ll do it just the way you like. Scotch pancakes- I’ll make scotch pancakes, and I won’t say a word when you drown them in syrup. Fitz, I swear I’d do anything for you. All you have to do is wake up.”)

Fitz doesn’t. His fingers stay still and unmoving, and Jemma wishes he would just twitch and fidget and mess with his tie until she went mad. 

(“Everyone misses you so much, Fitz. I know Skye and Coulson don’t visit much, but I swear they miss you, and May doesn’t show it, but I know she misses you too.”)

Jemma doesn’t mention that she misses him the most. She doesn’t think she has to.

(“I’ll be right back Fitz. I’ll be right back, I promise.”)

The first thing she notices- really notices- when she gets in the shower is how heavy her hair gets. The water weighs it down and pulls her until she can’t stand, and Jemma realizes that she can’t do it. She can’t do it, but there’s a comfort in that. Through the confusion and panic, there’s a part of her that enjoys the pain- a part that feels relieved. 

Jemma doesn’t know how long she stays in there. Time seems to not pass at all under the spray, but it’s long enough for May to notice her absence. May pulls her out from the shower and wraps her up in another warm white towel, but Jemma is determined to not let the moment end like it had the day before. 

She puts up a fight. She claws and screams and protests, and May is strong, but Jemma likes to think she put in a good effort. The fog clears in her mind enough for Jemma to admit she would never win a fight against Agent May, so she begins to use words. “I need to do this, May. I need to do this. I can do this. I’m strong enough.”

“I know you are,” May agrees, “But you don’t have to be.” Her voice is strong and steady, and Jemma is envious. May doesn’t sound like she’s putting in any effort into the fight at all. Her voice doesn’t waver at all. Meanwhile, Jemma was breathless, crying, begging. She was naked and soaking wet- like some sort of stray cat. 

“I wasn’t strong enough,” Jemma hisses. She takes on the role quickly. She is the abandoned animal- feral and ugly. She scrambles away from May and bares her teeth. “I wasn’t strong enough.” 

“You were strong enough to pull him out of the water,” May points out. She says it like it’s obvious, and Jemma supposes it is. She says it like a fact. 

“Please, May,” Jemma begs, “I just- I need to do this. I need to face this.”

Something inside May cracks. Her face remains completely stoic, her expression unmoving, but Jemma can see a change in it. She sees the shift, even as she cannot explain it. “Let me help you,” May says, and it’s the softest Jemma’s ever heard her speak.

“You can’t help me shower every time I need one,” Jemma slowly stands to her full height. She accepts the towel May offers, and as the thoughts begin to return to her mind, her cheeks blossom a painful red. 

“I won’t need to.” May leaves, and Jemma turns off the shower, feeling dejected. May returns quickly with one of the small folding chairs from the medbay. She doesn’t need to direct her. Jemma sits without further instruction. Then May brandishes a pair of scissors. “I’m cutting your hair. It’ll make it easier to shower.” 

Jemma has barely nodded in agreement before May is combing out the knots in her hair. Jemma has barely blinked before May has cut off the majority. The moments after that- trimming and washing and drying- that takes much longer. By the end, Jemma’s head feels immensely lighter. It had been years and years since Jemma had short hair, and the feeling of it brushing at her neck is uncomfortable, but the lightness of her head is almost euphoria. 

(It’s more than the practicality. There’s something else there too. Because when Jemma looks in the mirror, she sees a figure she can recognize for the first time in nine days. She still feels lost, but her reflection serves as a silhouette- a shape coming into form. Jemma feels different, and now she looks different, and her thoughts align for a moment. She feels right for a moment- unbroken.)

(Jemma thinks May knew from the beginning how much a haircut could do.)

Fitz wakes up five hours later as the others on the base eat dinner. Jemma is the one to call the nurses in. He is confused, and he doesn’t recognize her, and that hurts more than anything. 

(For a second Jemma regrets cutting her hair.)

But as she sits outside the hallway and waits she tries to hold onto her strength. She tries to hold the strength May had offered her, and she takes it like a lifeline, because Fitz needs her strength. Because Jemma changed, but she still has promises to keep.


End file.
